Were You Flirting with MY Angel?
by DrAutumn123
Summary: After the End of the World didn't happen, Crowley and Aziraphale go somewhere to celebrate. A stranger hits on Aziraphale at the bar. Crowley doesn't like it. Aziraphale likes when Crowley gets jealous.


The Apocalypse. More like the Apoca-wasn't. Armaggedon't. Ragnor-ok-never-mind. Also known as Aziraphale and Crowley spent 11 years trying to thwart the destruction and desolation of one Planet Earth and the supernatural war that would ultimately decimate the universe as a whole, only for one Adam Young to step in and do all the work. With the help of three eleven year olds and a small dog. Exactly as described in Revelations of course.

In short, the End Times were decidedly less end-y and more just the world's most stressful familial chat.

But, with that all out of the way and a load off their shoulders, the two beings decided that they were long overdue to get absolutely roaring drunk. To celebrate, to blow off some steam, whatever the reason, it happened that Crowley managed to convince Aziraphale, after their face swap and subsequent visits to each other's former offices, to go to his favorite bar, a rather mediocre place in the middle of London called _Someplace Else (1)._ Aziraphale chuckled inwardly at the name, thinking to himself of the irony of the both of them defying Heaven and Hell _for_ someplace else and to end up there exactly, down to the letter. Life did have a funny way of working out.

Crowley left Aziraphale at the bar to order their drinks while he went over to the junkbox to miracle some appropriate music. As R.E.M.'s _It's The End of the World _began to fill the space, Aziraphale smiled to himself and raised his arm to get the attention of the bartender.

"One scotch, neat, please, and whatever your house red wine is, my dear fellow." He ordered primly. The bartender nodded shortly and turned to fill the order before another voice chimed in.

"Put that on my tab_,_ if you don't mind, Art." The bartender and Aziraphale both turned towards the new voice and saw a tall, handsome, middle -aged gentleman. He had artfully tousled salt and pepper hair, a crisp, expensive looking business suit, with no tie and the top button undone to show a modest amount of chest hair, and an expensive looking drink in his hand. He smelled only slightly intoxicated, and distinctly human, so Aziraphale nodded his appreciation.

"Thank you, sir," Aziraphale began, hoping to cut the conversation short.

"Richard," the man interrupted smoothly. Aziraphale felt his wings bristle at the interruption but managed to keep his indifferently polite expression.

"Yes, well...Richard then." Aziraphale amended, turning his attention to the bartender who had appeared with his drinks. He grabbed them both and made to step away from the bar to find Crowley, but the man-Richard- stepped closer and blocked his escape.

"I've never seen you around here before," he commented. "And believe me, I would've noticed." He looked Aziraphale up and down appreciatively. Aziraphale set his drinks back on the bar before he spilled them, and slid into a seat. It seemed the man was intent on a conversation then. He shouldn't be surprised. In a place like this, his angelic grace always drew people in, usually people looking for comfort or confession. He considered it part of his job to allow it to happen, and to offer what advice and comfort he could. Oh well. Crowley could find him when he was done messing with the music if he really wanted his drink. To help one human find peace wouldn't take too much time, he hoped.

"Indeed. I haven't been to this particular establishment before." Aziraphale responded, taking a sip of his wine. As expected, it wasn't very _good_ wine, but it was strong and not the worst he'd ever had (2). He hummed and set it down gently, returning his attention to the man in front of him.

"What brings you here then, angel?" Richard asked. Now Aziraphale couldn't keep his face neutral. He had pegged this man to be human, and still did, but that didn't mean that he didn't have some sort of connection to either Heaven or Hell, which couldn't either be happy with him at the moment. He was rather easy to pick out what with his aforementioned Heavenly aura. Oh this was bad bad bad. He could only hope that Crowley would see what was happening and have the sense to slip away while he could. Assuming this man was working alone and hadn't already gotten to Crowley. Aziraphale tried to covertly glance around and find his friend's usually easily noticeable red hair but saw nothing.

The man continued, "I don't hope it's just the drinks. This place doesn't have the best in London, but I suppose they're cheap enough. You look a bit out of place though, if you don't mind me saying. More of an art museum, fancy restaurant kind of guy." Aziraphale felt the wind knocked out of his lungs. It was just polite conversation. He didn't know he was speaking to an actual angel, it was just a friendly addressment, just like when Aziraphale himself had just called the bartender "dear". He felt silly for his momentary panic and forced himself to answer.

"I do normally prefer a quieter setting, you're right. But on this occasion I am celebrating and this felt more appropriate." He purposefully didn't mention he wasn't alone, just in case. He figured he was just being jumpy, but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Is that so? Well if that's the case, I don't suppose I could tempt you into-"

"Angel," Richard was interrupted abruptly by Crowley's sudden reappearance. Aziraphale was relieved. He was starting to get rather annoyed by the man's small talk. He wouldn't have minded helping the man out usually, but he did come here to be with his friend and was rather selfishly eager to get back to it. Crowley grabbed his elbow and pulled him up, glaring heavily at the human man. Crowley normally glared at humans, but it seemed to Aziraphale that this glare was particularly moody. Perhaps it was because the man was taller than him. Crowley was a bit vain after all and often was upset over the silliest things, Aziraphale thought with a laugh to himself.

"I found us a table." He finished, still not looking at Aziraphale. Aziraphale sighed and grabbed their drinks. Of course Crowley would try to push the man away. He was a demon after all. Oh well. Aziraphale was confident the man would be fine. He was seeking help from Aziraphale, so surely he would seek help from someone else. Perhaps not the most angelic way to think but Aziraphale had had just about enough of his angelic duties for the day.

"Oh, you're not alone." Richard commented, sounding glum. "Congratulations on whatever it was you were celebrating then, have a good night." He slinked away from the bar. Aziraphale turned to Crowley.

"Now that wasn't necessary, dear, he was merely seeking advice or comfort or something." He admonished the demon, passing him his drink at the same time. "You needn't have frightened the poor man off."

Crowley gaped at him in shock, a look reminiscent of the look he'd given him when he learned he'd given away his flaming sword. Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush at the memory.

"You're joking, angel. He was _clearly_ flirting with you!" He exclaimed, his hand still resting on Aziraphale's elbow, which Aziraphale was oddly aware of and sort of distracted by.

"Oh posh." He replied. "It's hardly uncommon that humans are unconsciously drawn to me with their problems. He probably feels guilty and wished to atone and was just pulled in by my grace."

"Oh he was _drawn_ to you alright." Crowley all but growled.

"Come on now, dear, he's gone. You said you'd gotten us a table?" Aziraphale tried to pull him away from the bar unsuccessfully.

"Said it, yep. Didn't actually though." Crowley said, still grumpy. "I just wanted him to leave." Aziraphale threw his hands in the air in frustration.

"Crowley for _someone's_ sake we have the rest of eternity to celebrate now, don't you think you could've been patient for five minutes while I helped him?" Aziraphale couldn't help the fond tone that crept into his voice at Crowley's antics. Impatient, rude, sarcastic, and completely incorrigible but of course Aziraphale wasn't really mad. He'd wanted the man to go away anyway, he was just too polite to say so.

"Nope." Crowley said, taking a gulp of his drink and slamming the now empty glass on the bar. "He wasn't wanting help and I _don't_ like sharing." Aziraphale rolled his eyes but summoned the bartender once more with a wave of his hand. Crowley scowled at him but accepted the refilled drink with a nod to the bartender.

"I could _sense _his intentions you know, angel. They were much less devout than you're imagining." He groused. Aziraphale rolled his eyes again but acquiesced. He still doubted that the man had any interest in him, but Crowley did have more experience, so who was really to say?

Besides, it was nice to imagine that Crowley was jealous, and not just doing his demonic duty and forcing the man away from whatever he was feeling guilty about or comfort he was seeking. Jealous and not just selfish. Selfish but with different intentions. Well Aziraphale could pretend so anyway.

Crowley suddenly grabbed Aziraphale's elbow again and pulled him away from the bar in the direction that the man had gone.

"I'll prove it to you, angel." He said firmly, tugging him through the crowd, forcing Aziraphale to hold his drink high above his head to keep from spilling it. A few seconds later, Crowley stopped behind the turned back of the taller human, dropped Aziraphale's arm (much to his disappointment), and tapped him on the shoulder rudely. Richard turned away from the person with whom he had been chatting, another middle-aged gentleman in a similar suit.

"'Scuse me," Crowley said loudly. Richard turned and looked down at Crowley in surprise. Aziraphale noted again their height difference. Crowley was already _tall_, but the human had a few inches on him, and was bulkier than Crowley's lean and lithe frame. Crowley didn't seem to care and he glared up at the man. Despite being physically larger, the man seemed to instinctively know that Crowley was dangerous, and took a small step backwards, glancing over Crowley's shoulder at Aziraphale, who wiggled his fingers in greeting, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Uh, hi?" Richard said slowly. Crowley's sunglasses covered gaze could be rather unnerving, Aziraphale knew from experience.

"Settle an argument for us would you?" Crowley drawled easily, a smug grin on his face. Aziraphale felt his non-existent blood pressure rise. Richard nodded slowly, as if to say "go on".

"Were you flirting with _my _angel?" Crowley's voice was dangerously low, a complete 180 from his forced levity a moment ago. Aziraphale felt a dangerous wave of emotion wash over him at the sound, settling itself deep in his bones. He surely had imagined the possessive emphasis Crowley had placed on his words didn't he? He had to have. Crowley had been calling him _angel_ for millennia. It was surely just Aziraphale's mind playing tricks on him, taking advantage of their disagreement to provide him with the mental imagery (3). Or perhaps he had. Demons were known for being rather possessive, but it didn't mean what Aziraphale wished it did. He'd most likely just heard the man also offhandedly call him angel and was mocking him. But Aziraphale could let himself imagine, couldn't he? No harm in that. Not in 6,000 years anyway.

"Well," Richard started, looking as though he'd rather be literally anywhere else. "I didn't know he was here with someone, I thought he was alone?" He provided, hands raised in a placating gesture. Aziraphale nodded understandingly before the words sank in fully. He stopped and cocked his head.

"Wait. You _were?_ Crowley was _right?_" He questioned. Crowley turned to him and grinned.

"Well that's bound to happen sometimes, angel." He quipped lightly before turning back to the human man who was now sweating slightly.

"Yeah, listen, I didn't realize he was taken but seriously it's not that big a deal right? Cute guy like that, alone, in a gay bar? S'not like he's not his own person and capable of tellin' me off himself." Richard hurried to defend himself. Aziraphale flushed slightly at his own stupidity.

"Yes, come now Crowley you've been proved right. He didn't mean anything by it. Might we just forget about it all?" He muttered, tugging on Crowley's sleeve, looking away from the both of them. Crowley grunted, sending one last scathing glance at the human man, before allowing himself to be pulled away. Crowley miracled them a free booth and they slid into it on opposite sides. Aziraphale stared pointedly only at his drink, refusing to look Crowley in the face in his embarrassment. Crowley, similarly, was swirling his scotch around and lounging around, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale, awkward.

After a few moments Crowley tried to break through the awkward tension.

"Listen, angel, I'm...sssssorry." His distress was evident in his voice as he hissed. Aziraphale looked up, confused.

"Whatever for, my dear? You were right? I'm merely embarrassed that I was so naive…" he trailed off.

"Well for sssscaring him off to sssstart." Crowley rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "He was genuinely interesssted in you." He admitted. "I jusssst...when I ssssaw him flirting with you….felt-well maybe a little, and I mean after all thissss time it'ssss natural-a bit jealoussss." Between the excessive, even for Crowley, hissing and the backpedaling, it took Aziraphale a moment to understand what he meant.

"Jealous?" He repeated, stunned.

"Well jusssst a bit! After all we came here to celebrate and I said before I don't like ssssharing. I'm a demon after all." Crowley tried to cover his slip. Demon. Selfish. _Not real feelings_.

Aziraphale saw through him.

"Jealous." He repeated again, a smile spreading across his face. "Jealous _and _possessive." He looked up finally and stared at Crowley, positively beaming.

"Demon." Crowley stated firmly. Aziraphale might have believed him once. Might've once been too embarrassed by his own feelings to hope, to look up and see the way Crowley was blushing. The red spreading across his cheeks however, was a dead give away. He knew if he could see Crowley's eyes they would be shifting nervously.

"That's a shame." Aziraphale stated, enjoying this immensely now. "If you _were _jealous, I'd tell you that you've nothing to be jealous over. After all, he's only human." Crowley's eyes shifted over to Aziraphale, who was calmly sipping his wine.

"Not my taste at all." He continued ambiguously. Was he referring to the wine or the human? Crowley knew which but Aziraphale left it up to him to decide on which meaning he would choose.

"I prefer something more aged, I believe. Maybe darker too." Wine or human wine or human? Which will you chose Crowley? He seemed to be egging him on.

"Is that so?" Crowley choked out. _Coward! _He screamed inwardly. Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him, completely aware of the struggle within Crowley. He'd made his choice, _but what would Crowley's be? _

"Quite. Something sweeter, but with a bitter edge to balance it out. This is just...bland."

"Bland." Crowley repeated. Aziraphale finished off the glass with a casual sip.

"Indeed. And after all, I'm quite free to indulge myself now aren't I? What with Heaven no longer breathing down my neck. And as we've recently learned, you never know what's going to happen So why hold back on our desires?" _Take the blessed _hint _you old serpent!_

Crowley's brain finally caught on. A wicked grin spread across his face. Crowley leaned forward, almost all the way across the table, dangerously close to Aziraphale's face.

"Well I seem to recall, angel, that you have some rather nice wine back at the shop. Why don't we ditch this place and have some of that?" Aziraphale beamed and Crowley was glad for his sunglasses, otherwise he'd've been blinded for sure. They both rose from their sides of the booth and, as easy as breathing, their hands found one another's as they exited the bar.

And if the human man saw it and his drink spilled down his front...well Aziraphale didn't need to know that.

Someplace Else is a gay bar in the author's (my) town that the author ( me) felt was appropriately named

2 That honor belonged to a rather nasty wine he'd had in Judea a few thousand years ago, at a particular inn known for having the best stew along the Via Mares. Great stew, he remembered fondly. Wine was more like vinegar however.

3 Much like their argument at the nunnery-turned-paintball-field had provided him with the experience of being pinned to a wall by Crowley, an experience he had _not _been obsessing over for several days now thank you _very _much


End file.
